


and i chase it down (with a shot of truth)

by orphan_account



Category: Atypical (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, atypical season 3, just read the notes it basically says the premise, yeah idk what else to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-20 19:51:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21287243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It starts like this, with Casey Gardner sitting on the couch in the sunroom with Evan, his hand clutched in hers, saying, “I think we need to break up.”
Relationships: Casey Gardner/Izzie, Evan Chapin & Casey Gardner
Comments: 8
Kudos: 147





	and i chase it down (with a shot of truth)

**Author's Note:**

> basically casey breaks up with evan before ever kissing izzie. because they pulled the cheating bisexual trope and that was... not it. sorry if it seems a little ooc i've never written for them before so

It starts like this, with Casey Gardner sitting on the couch in the sunroom with Evan, his hand clutched in hers, saying, “I think we need to break up.”

His grip on her hand loosens ever so slightly, shocked, maybe, and he sputters out, “W-what? Why?”

“I don’t—I don’t know,” she says, tears welling in her eyes, brimming to the forefront, gathering behind her eyelids and slipping on her eyelashes. “Well, I do. I do. I just... I don’t know how to tell you.”

Evan reaches forward, resting a hand on her cheek, wiping away a stray tear on her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “Hey, hey,” he murmurs. “It’s alright. It’s alright, but I just—I wanna know _why. _Can you just... tell me why? Or at least try?”

“Okay, okay.” A shaky breath shudders through her body, her chest rising and falling with the inhale and exhale. “I—I think that I might have... feelings,” she chokes out, through the burning and breaking in her heart, the unravelling in her ribcage, the sinking in her stomach. “For—for someone else.”

“Who?” he says, softly, uttered quietly, a barely there whisper.

She pauses, sighs, says, “I just—I want you to know that—that I still love you. I still love you, even if doing this may seem like it doesn’t. I’m—I’m doing it because it’s unfair to you otherwise and—”

_“Who?” _he demands, closer to harsh, but still far from it at the same time.

“Does it matter?” she asks, a deflection, a distraction, trying to quell the drops of water that pitch their way forward, attempting to spill out and tumble down her already tear-tracked face.

“Does it matter? Does it_matter?” _he bursts out, anger clear in his voice.

Casey flinches; his tone becomes softer.

“Listen, Casey, I—of course it matters. And I know—I know you might not wanna say, but... but I think I—I think I deserve to know.”

Tears brim in his eyes now as well, and he places a hand on her knee, comforting, a familiar presence, warm through the fabric of her jeans.

“Izzie,” she says. “It’s Izzie. I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” he breathes out. “Oh.”

“Oh?” she asks. “Is that—is that weird?”

“No.” He looks at her, closely, rubs his hand over her left leg from where she’s got it tucked up on the couch, on the knee joint where her jeans are slowly splitting apart—and not to mention are frayed at the cuffs and stitched up at the seams—takes her hand in his other one, intertwines their fingers, says, “No, it’s not—it’s not weird. And—you don’t need to be sorry.”

“I just—I didn’t wanna be like my mom, you know?” she whispers, voice barely audible. “Because—because I think... I think Izzie might like me as well, and I—I don’t—I don’t want to cheat on you or anything. You don’t deserve that. No one deserves that.”

She looks at him, taking in the curve of his jaw, the gleam of his eye, the scruff of his hair, tries not to think about the fact that this might be the last time she can think of him in this way.

She smiles, bumps her shoulder against his, tucks her feet into his lap, says, “You promise you don’t find it weird?”

“Yeah,” he replies, smiling, hauling his legs up onto the couch as well, knocking his knee and foot against hers in the process. “I promise. I’m just... glad you told me.”

“And we can still be friends, right?” she ventures, extending an olive branch, the thought of _maybe it’s better this way _ringing in her head.

“Yeah,” he says. “Still friends. Still friends is... good.”

”Okay,” she says, smiles, and he smiles too, his grin stretching impossibly wider, and it feels safe to lean her head on his shoulder, with their fingers still entwined, legs propped sideways and their long limbs all tangled together, their trademark pairs of mismatched socks peeking from the tops of their shoes, their hearts stitched at the seams and fraying at the cuffs, just like Casey’s old jeans, but they’re together, they’re still friends, as solid as ever, so... it’s okay.

_It’s okay, _Casey thinks, and her heart feels fit to burst, buttons beginning to pop and seams starting to rip. It’s a new start, clutched in the palm of her hand, ready to be released whenever she feels the need, and everything’s okay. _Everything’s okay._  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It starts like this, with Casey Gardner kicking up dust underneath her heels, adrenaline hot in her veins, blood rushing, heart pumping, head pounding. She focuses on the rhythm of her strides, the thud her trainers make against the track—one, two; one, two—ignoring the burning in her legs as she completes another lap. The night is humid, another case of the typical summer weather, and she’s training just as hard as ever—with the seed of going to UCLA sprouted in her mind, she’s decided to try to push herself, get her times down, go that extra mile—literally and figuratively—to have even a _chance _of going. But it’s two years away and not worrying about things that lie far ahead in the future is her forte. And, after all, running has always been a means of distraction for her; it makes it possible for her to lose herself in the feeling of her heart beating in tandem with the thump of her feet, in the racing of her pulse and in the adrenaline rush that courses through her body, spreading outwards from the confines of her ribcage to the ends of her fingers and the tips of her toes.

It starts like this, with her feeling her energy beginning to run low and her legs truly beginning to burn, with Izzie appearing out of almost nowhere and saying _Casey _in that way she has, accompanied by that smile of hers, of gold and of light and making her look so ethereal and beautiful that Casey is sure she’s never felt so holy before.

“Izzie,” she says, and smiles as well, inconsequential in the face of everything, in the rapid beating of her heart.

“It’s a strange time to practice,” Izzie remarks, looking up at the sky, where the stars aren’t visible from the bright lights surrounding the running track. “But better late than never.”

How Izzie even knew she was here, Casey has no idea, but she’s not complaining, not really. A weight feels lifted off her shoulders with the knowing that her and Evan aren’t together anymore, that she’s free to be with Izzie the way she wants to be.

“I swear I’m not a stalker,” Izzie adds. “I just... really had to talk to you.”

“How’d you find me?” Casey asks, and then the answer’s on the tip of her tongue, but Izzie replies before she can say it.

“Do you even have to ask?”

“Elsa tracks my phone,” she says, a wry smile making its way onto her face, and then she chuckles to herself. There are no pockets in her shorts, nothing to do with her hands other than tug at the hem of her shirt, so that’s what she does.

“First off,” Izzie starts, “it _sucks _you’re avoiding me. I mean, I put myself out there, and I was _honest _with you, and for that I get the _silent treatment?”_

Casey feels her breath hitch in her throat, unnoticed by Izzie but painfully obvious to her, and she can’t even think of _anything _to say—not one thing, in the entire world of possibilities. She doesn’t know if she’s ever been speechless like this before.

“Even if you _don’t _feel the same,” Izzie continues, “you could at _least_ be there for me as a _friend. _You’re making me feel crazy!” She stops, pauses, takes a deep breath, and then says, “If I _knew... _that you were gonna be all weird and that this was gonna jeopardise our friendship, I never, in a million years, would have told you how I felt. Because... it is becoming incredibly clear that you don’t feel the same way—”

She can’t take it anymore. Casey surges forward, wind swept hair and all, grabs Izzie by the face, and kisses her, hard, all the pent-up energy she couldn’t quite release from running forcing its way into the kiss, effectively silencing her. Izzie kisses back immediately—her lips taste sweet, honey, maybe, or cherry, or a mix of both, god forbid; Casey has no damn clue, too caught up in the feeling of Izzie’s mouth pressed against hers—raises her hand to cup the back of Casey’s neck, and Casey does the same thing, wrapping her entire arm protectively around Izzie, not wanting to ever let go again. She smiles, _laughs, _into the kiss, and there’s a memory, of Slurpee Night, of wanting to kiss Izzie then, maybe, the taste of cotton candy still prominent on their tongues, but only going so far as holding her hand, and if even just _that _made butterflies erupt in her stomach then kissing her makes her heart feel like it’s been set on fire, or spontaneously combust into nothing, into ashes, a phoenix reborn. There’s a memory, of the night of Casey’s party, of forehead promises and almost-kisses and everything else in between, of Izzie saying, _No, I... I was afraid of losing _you. There’s memories and reminders of Izzie everywhere she goes, and she doesn’t think she’s ever wanted anything less than this, than this moment right now, with Izzie’s lips against hers.

When they finally pull away from each other, needing to catch their breaths, Casey can only stare, breathe out a quiet _whoa, _still able to taste the chapstick Izzie uses—whatever flavour it is, Casey isn’t sure, but it tastes damn good—on her lips, in her mouth, and she relishes it, never wanting to lose the taste.

“Yeah,” Izzie murmurs, quiet, after a while, catching her breath still, her eyes dropping to Casey’s lips once again.

“So...” Casey trails off, letting the laugh and the smile in her voice take command, relishing in the skip and the beat of her heart.

Izzie shrugs her shoulders, imperceptibly, almost unnoticeably to anyone but Casey, who has learnt to catalogue every single one of Izzie’s movements. “I don’t know.”

“Hungry?” Casey asks, breathless still, and Izzie—staring at her with something akin to awe in her eyes—says, accompanied by a breathy little chuckle, “Actually, I really am.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It starts like this, with Casey Gardner propped up on the brick wall outside the closest store they could find, hand inching ever closer to Izzie’s own, a painful reminder of that night that was driving four towns away and cotton candy slurpees and holding hands and... and declining Evan’s phone call just to spend a little longer with Izzie with no interruption. (And whether that was the right thing to do or not, Casey isn’t sure, but it felt right in the moment, so isn’t _that _what matters?) (Maybe, maybe not.)

“You had me so confused,” she says, laughing, trying to ignore the way her heart beats faster than ever—faster than the thump it makes while running—with Izzie so close to her, with dangling feet and a cool breeze on her legs.

“Me?” Izzie asks, a giggle, a skip in Casey’s heart.

“Yeah,” Casey says, with a smile and a laugh and _another _skip in her heart. “After Slurpee Night? You were like... it’s good to have friends. We’re friends. Friends. Friends. Friends.”

“What was I _supposed _to say?”

There’s a smile obvious in her tone, her mouth stretched into a grin, and it’s there in Casey’s as well when she says, “I don’t know, the truth?”

Izzie side-eyes her, a wry smile on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes, and matter of factly tells her, “When I told you the truth you ran away.”

“True,” Casey admits, nodding, and then laughs out, “I’m sorry.”

Shrugging her shoulders, like a gentle upward tug, she bites her lip, says, “You came around.” Her eyes drop to Casey’s lips, and, okay, maybe _this _is the fastest Casey's heart has ever beaten before, a pounding in her chest that's difficult to ignore, that Izzie can probably hear considering how close she is, could feel if she just... reached a hand forward and pressed it against the left side of Casey's ribcage, trace it up her neck, lean forward and... and...

And it doesn't happen, because then Beth bounds up to them, rambling on about something or other that Casey is barely sure of, nodding along and speaking when she feels the need to, to fill the silence, too busy being lost in her head, thinking of how close Izzie was, how far away she is now, having sprung away, moved a couple of inches further from her, the moment Beth appeared at their side.

There is an ache in her stomach and in her heart, a voice that says _Are you not good enough for her?_

And it's a lie, surely, made up in the deepest darkest parts of her mind, because every person—no matter how perfect and flawless they may seem—has their own downfalls, their own insecurities, and Izzie's is this: she's scared of judgement. She's scared of people finding out the truth about her, how they'd react, maybe, and Casey's never been told this, Izzie hasn't ever fully disclosed it to her, but it's clear in the way she acts, the way she falters when other people are around and backs away, refrains from touching Casey at all, even if only barely.

When Beth finally turns away, Casey stares at her feet for a long while, studying the cracks in the ground, mulling over the thoughts that ring in her head, despite all she tries to do to stop it. When she finally looks up, Izzie is long gone.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It starts like this, with Casey approaching Izzie in the hall where she stands by her locker, and says, "Why did you leave?"

Izzie hunches her shoulders, fiddles with the lock, flits her eyes back and forth. The hallway is empty, sparse other than the few people gathered at the opposite end.

"I don't know," she says, finally, after a few moments.

"Okay," Casey says, simply, looking at her hands, fidgeting with them, and then—"Was it because of Beth?"

"What?" Izzie twists around to look at her, spins on her heel, peers up at Casey, who isn't _that _much taller, but the height different is still rather noticeable. She sputters out, "What ar—w-why would it be because of Beth?"

Casey sighs, fidgets with her hands some more, and then explains, "You always jump away the moment someone else comes. Like... like you're scared to be seen with me."

Izzie averts her eyes, gulps, and then says, harshness rising in her tone, "Well, maybe I just don't want my personal business broadcasted to everybody."

"It was one person!" Casey exclaims. "And—and Beth's my _friend."_

"Yeah, well—" Izzie clears her throat. "She's not mine."

Casey's heart sinks. Izzie opens her mouth again, and Casey already knows she's going to dread the words.

And, like a rumble of thunder, like a flash of lightning, Izzie says, "Why do you care so much anyway? You're not my girlfriend," and Casey's heart sinks even further, right down to the pit of her stomach, and she spits out, "Perhaps that's a good thing."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It starts like this, with Izzie being the one to approach Casey in the hall this time, the next day, and saying, "I'm sorry."

"Okay," Casey says, and slams her locker shut. She turns away, goes to walk down the hall, but gets interrupted before she can by Izzie catching her by the sleeve.

"Listen," she starts, and then stops, and then starts again. "I'm sorry. For what I said yesterday. I just... I get so in my _head _sometimes, and then I don't think of anyone else, or what the impact of what I say will be."

Casey stares, mutters, "That doesn't make it any better."

"I know that," Izzie says, emphatic. "And I wanted to say that yesterday—that what I said wasn't strictly true. I mean, I _know _we're not together officially or anything, but... but I'd like to be. If... if that's what you want." She pauses, thinking it over. "Or... or have I got this all wrong? Wait—are you still with Evan?"

_"What?" _Casey bursts out, incredulously, and laughs. "No—no, I'm not—I'm not with Evan. We... we broke up."

"Oh," Izzie says, the faint hints of a smile forming in the curve of her lips, inherently obvious no matter how much she tries to hide it. "Okay."

"The thing is," Casey starts, "how do I _know _it's not gonna be the same? One second you'll be all fine with me, willing to hold my hand and be close to me or whatever, and the next you won't even wanna be near me?"

"I—I wasn't _ready _for that then," she says, pursing her lips. "But—I think—wait, Casey—_Newton."_

That makes Casey turn around, the hardness in her voice, determination almost.

She steps forward, touches Casey by the wrist, puts her hands up to her face, grazes a thumb over the curve of Casey's cheekbone, and then kisses her, with as much force as their first one. She kisses her, right in the middle of the school hallway, where _anyone _could see, and Casey's insides feel set on fire, a second phoenix, another one reborn, ashes and ashes.

When she pulls away, she murmurs, "I don't care what they think. Not anymore."

And Casey kisses her again, right in the middle of the school hallway, where _anyone _could see, and she finds that she doesn't care either.


End file.
